


Help! I've fallen in love with my magic mirror!

by buckwheat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ??????, M/M, Magic mirror au, Tags Are Hard, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckwheat/pseuds/buckwheat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is sceptical and Sherlock is, well, Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Betad and UN-britpicked. I do not own Sherlock or any of it's affiliated characters.

 

The bell over the door of the small antique shop tinkled as john limped his way inside, his cane an ever constant companion at his side. The thumps echoed hollowly in the near deserted shop as john made his way further in. The shop was nothing special and there was no reason for him to even have entered. Except one. The display at the window was showing off a variety of trinkets and knick knacks, but through the clutter he saw something interesting. A sturdy oak table sat just behind the window display, covered with a frilly lace table cloth. But it wasn't the table or the awful cover that held his attention.

 

about a dozen hand mirrors sat face up displaying their shining surfaces, all in various sizes and types of metal and color but those held little interest for him. The center held one lone mirror face down. A beautifully rendered raven, mid flight, was engraved on the back. John approached the table and reached out to run a finger along the back. The mirror seemed to hum with untapped energy. He picked it up and turned it over

 

The mirror itself wasn't as ornate as some of the others on the table, but John thought it was nicely wrought in silver with tarnished etchings running along the sleek curves around the face. It wasn't heavy for its size, but is wasn't light either. It was large enough that is would be awkward to carry around with you wherever you went, but not so big as to discourage the same. John scowled at his reflection in the shining surface, wondering why he was drawn to and even considering purchasing such an item. It was most likely out of his price range anyway, with his army pension. He was about to set it back on the table without even looking at the price tag when a croaking voice interrupted his musings.

 

“Ah, I see you've taken a liking to that mirror.” the old man glanced at the piece before quickly darting his eyes back up to John's. “You have a good eye. We have a special price on that one in particular.” The shop keeper seemed nervous as his eyes darted back and forth between the mirror and john. He rung his hands in and anxious gesture he didn't even seem to be aware of, not that John noticed either.

 

John grimaced and tried to put it down again. His hand didn't seem to want to let it go. “Even with a special price, I doubt I would be able to afford it.”

 

The shop keeper seemed annoyed for a split second before composing himself and putting on, what John was sure, what was his most convincing sales smile. “Well if you cannot afford free, then you must be in rough shape my boy!”

 

John straightened and looked at the man incredulously. “You mean to tell me, that this mirror is free?” John could feel a catch. The man seemed way too eager to get rid of it. Even as that thought came, John was finding it harder and harder to tell himself to put it down and leave the shop. “Look, I may not know much about antiques, but I know something valuable when I see it, and this mirror must be worth hundreds of pounds.” the man was starting to sweat. “So forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. Whats in it for you?”

 

“that mirror has never stayed in the same hands long. Anyone I sell it to brings it back saying that it doesn't work like a mirror should.” he shook his head in exasperation. “a mirror not working properly! How can that even be possible? Now, I've been trying to get rid of it for a long time and no one will even look at it! You are the first in months.” the man now had a determined look on his face. “so please, take it.”

 

john was still skeptical. “But-”

 

“Just take it! I can't take his incessant nattering anymore!” The shop keepers smooth facade slid off his face like water on an oil-slicked surface. “I get enough of that from my wife as it is, I don't need any more! And he keeps rearranging my shop, I don't like it! Now if you please, take that blasted thing and out with you!” with that he shoved the mirror back at John's chest and shooed him to the door. Sputtering, John allowed himself to be shooed. It wasn't until the door was closed in his face and the lock engaged did he register what the man had said.

 

_He?_ _Who is he?_

 

John was was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice his cane was missing until he was on the tube back to his bedsit. The realization should have shocked him, but all he felt was a numb sort of relief. He still had the mirror clutched to his chest in a death grip like someone was going try and take it from him. He tried to bring his arms down to rest in his lap to no avail. It's like his body was so paranoid that it would be stolen that it was trying to guard it at all costs. He shook his head ruefully. One valuable item in his possession and he felt like the world was out to get him.

 

A transfer and one crowded carriage later, John was walking up to unlock the door of his bedsit. The crowded carriage had been particularly bad, as his suspicion and paranoia were amplified by the object held to his chest. He had checked to make sure he still had his browning several times. He knew he was acting silly but no matter how many times he tried to calm down, the feelings always came back full throttle. It was an effort to un-pry his fingers to be able to unlock the door but once he was inside and the door shut and bolted behind him he was able to relax and loose some of the tension that had built up on the ride home.

 

John walked into the small room that consisted only of his bed, a small desk and wardrobe. He placed the mirror gingerly on the desk so it was facing the room, sat on his bed and stared at it for a good five minutes. He then realized he was being ridiculous and got up to start his evening routine. He walked over to the wardrobe to change into his pajamas.

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

John whirled to face the intruder, the browning coming into his hand like it was second nature. Only to find no one there. Confused, he started to slowly put his gun back into his belt. The voice came again.

 

“I dislike repeating myself. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

John was turning in a fast circle and sweeping the room for anywhere an intruder could hide.

 

“...Afghanistan.” John said with reluctance. “who-”

 

“For god's sake, I'm over here!” John, who had still been circling in place, turned to where the nearly shouted statement had come from. He stared at his desk not really comprehending what he was seeing. In the reflection of the mirror propped against the wall on his desk, standing right behind him was a man. A very tall man with wild curly hair, piercing blue eyes, and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Not that John would notice such things on a man, it was just that he was so striking and the situation was so bizarre that his mind registered everything about it. The image was so clear that he had to check just to make sure no one was there. There wasn't. John gulped.

 

“Who- no what are you?” John asked the mirror with a surprisingly steady voice “Are you a ghost?”

 

The man in the mirror rolled his eyes. He mumbled something about seeing but not observing under his breath.

 

“No I am not a ghost. I physically exist, just not in the world you currently reside in. My world is the same as yours except the fact that it is in reverse.” He sounded as though he had explained this all a million times before. “I can go anywhere this mirror is taken and interact with anything that is in view with a few exceptions.” to demonstrate, he pulled the chair out from the desk, spun it around and sat astride it. At the same moment john's own chair was pulled and spun around in the same manor. That was something that shook him more than the man in the mirror himself. Just then something the old shop keeper said came back to him at that moment.

 

“He said you'd been rearranging his shop. I didn't know what he meant until now” John's laugh had an almost hysterical edge to it.

 

“He was annoying. I had to do _something_ to ease the boredom!” John gave him a rueful look. Something else occurred to him then.

 

“Is that why you were face down then?” a sulky pout appeared in the mans face. “all the others were face up.”

 

“I... may have gone a bit too far.” the pout was still present and didn't look like it was going to leave any time soon. Also he didn't seem like he was going to elaborate. Just as well, he didn't want to know what the man had done to warrant the shopkeeper's wrath.

 

“You said a few exceptions. What are those?” John really was curious, if still a bit wary.

 

“I cannot touch or move my own mirror, and I cannot interact with the people in the reflection unless given strict consent.” the man looked thoughtfully at John for a moment before looking away to study the room. “This place is horrid. I have a flat in London that would be much better.” the topic of conversation changed so fast it almost gave john whiplash.

 

“Wait, you have a flat? How is that even possible?” John was

 

He looked at John in annoyance. “Someone owed me a favor, now if you please?” he looked expectant, like it was common for people to do exactly as he liked when he liked. If it wasn't already dark out John knew he would have obeyed the silent command.

 

“Wait, you want to go now? No way, it's the middle of the night, I don't even know your name and you want to go look at a flat?” It was John's turn to look expectant.

 

“The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker street.” Sherlock looked a little put out that they were not leaving right then and there.

“Right well, nice to meet you Sherlock Holmes, I'm John Watson.” John held out his hand to shake. Sherlock stared at him like he was an idiot.

 

“Didn't you hear me earlier? I can't touch you unless you give consent.”

 

“Ah, right.” Feeling abashed at forgetting already, John dropped his hand with a grimace. Giving a man like sherlock that much power over him when they had just met didn't seem like a very good idea. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and spoke again. “We can go first thing in the morning, but for now I need to get some sleep.” He moved to change his clothes again, but thought better of it. He looked over his shoulder to the mirror on his desk. Sherlock was still sitting calmly in the desk chair, casually looking about the room. “do you mind?”

 

Sherlock looked him dead in the eye, and in the blandest voice imaginable, replied. “Not at all.” he did not move from where he was seated. In fact, he seemed to make himself more comfortable. Seeing this, John sighed in exasperation and gathered his sleep clothes. He would change in the bathroom. By the time he came back out into the room proper, everything was back to how it was before his surprise guest showed up, and the mirror was empty but for the reflections that were supposed to be there.

 

John's night passed normally from that point on, despite the constant checking for the strange man and anything that would signal his presence. He eventually fell into a restless sleep.

 

–

 

_The sound of rapid gun fire was deafening._

 

_The heat and smell of blood clogged his throat_

 

_Dead men littered the ground but there were some still alive, groaning in pain._

 

_A man a few paces away was alive. John leaned over to try to stop the bleeding._

 

_Pain. Fear. Blazing sun over head._

 

_Please god let me live._

 

–

 

John woke with a start, panting. His night shirt clung to him uncomfortably.  The horrors of Afghanistan were pushed back into the recesses of his mind as he picked at his damp shirt. John  sighed as he  peeled off the sweaty garment and flung It into the hamper. He would have to do the washing soon.  He was just starting to get his breath back when Sherlock spoke.

 

“Oh good, you're awake. Get dressed  so we can go.”  John just looked at him for a moment,  uncomprehending. Then with a start,  He heaved himself up and  moved to the lue. 

 

“We can go after I've had a shower and some breakfast.”  Yawning, He stretched as he moved.  As J ohn was closing the door he heard something about food and transport but the door snapped shut before he could make any sense of it.  He showered quickly and efficiently, wrapping a towel around his waist when he stepped out of the basin. He moved over to the sink to shave and brush his teeth. He worked the shaving foam into a lather and spread it evenly around his face and neck. One swipe, then two, rinsing the blades between each. He glanced at the sink to rinse the blade for a third time. He looked back up and gave a start.

 

“JESUS-” the razor slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor as John clutched a hand to his chest. Sherlock stared back at him with indifference. “Sherlock what the hell are you doing in here? And HOW?”

 

“Oh didn't I mention that before? I can also travel through any mirrors in the near vicinity.” Johns heart beat was just starting to slow back down when he answered.

 

“No, you most certainly did not say that.” John ground his teeth “And intruding in the Bathroom while in use is a bit not good.”  John stared hard at sherlock who was pretending he wasn't being watched. John knocked on the mirror the get his attention back on him. When Sherlock's cool gaze swung back to his, John could have sworn he looked abashed. At least a little. But it was gone before he could make anything of it. “Now that I have your attention again, get out. I'll be done in a moment” Sherlock held up his hands in a playacting gesture and vanished from sight. John bent to pick up his razor from the floor to finish shaving. He could already tell this was going to be a long day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Magic mirror 2

 

john only managed to nic himself twice shaving that morning despite the constant feeling of being watched. Now that he knew Sherlock could move freely wherever there was a mirror, he was jumpy at the slightest twitch in the reflective surface.

 

He finished up as quickly as possible as to not keep Sherlock waiting. John didn't want to know what happened when the man grew bored. He stepped out of the lue, fully dressed, and strode over to the desk and subsequently, the mirror.

 

“All right Sherlock” John called out “we can leave now. 221B Baker street was it?”

 

Sherlock appeared in his own mirror, still looking a bit put out at being scolded earlier. He gave a sullen nod to John's question.

 

“Oh don't pout like you think you were in the right.” John gave Sherlock a no nonsense stare. He walked over to the small hall closet an picked up his rarely used satchel.

 

“I know what you're thinking and there is no way you are putting me in that _thing!”_ Sherlock pointed an indignant finger at the bag John had shouldered. John's look was steady as he walked over to the desk and bent so he was eye level with the man in the mirror. 

 

“ ' No way ' you say? If we are doing this, we are going to do it my way. That includes putting you in this bag so I don't look like a loon clutching a mirror on the tube to baker street!” John stood straight. “If you don't like it, then tough luck. It's the only way you're getting there.” Before he could protest further, john  grabbed up the mirror and stuffed it  into his satchel. 

 

A muffled yell caught his attention. “Why don't we just take a cab!?” John flipped the flap of the bag over so he could hear Sherlock better. “Army pension. Not waisting that much money when I could take the tube for a fourth of the price.”

 

After grabbing his wallet, keys, and anything else he might need while out, John headed out the door. He continued to hear muffled grumbles so he gave his bag a good thunk. And indignant squawk was heard from the depths of the bag then silents. The morning was a bit chilly and the sky overcast as he walked to the tube station. The same sense of paranoia overcame him, but on a lesser, more manageable scale. He was able to shove most of it to the back of his mind, the only sign being the hand clenched around the strap of the bag.

 

The ride to baker street itself was uneventful and John was soon making his way up the lane to 221. a quick rap on the door produced a handsome older woman in a purple cardigan.

 

“Yes dear, what can I do for you?” Her smile was kindly and expectant. Before he could even tell her his name a shout came from the bag. “MRS. HUDSON.” She looked at the bag, startled for a moment before her eyes widened in recognition.

 

“Oh my, Sherlock? Is that you in there?” The woman, Mrs. Hudson apparently looked at john expectantly and gestured to the bag.

 

“Oh yes, right.” John fumbled to open the bag and pull out sherlock's mirror.

“I would know that mirror anywhere. Where have you been for the past few years dear?” Sherlock had appeared behind her in the mirror. “and you haven't ages a day since I last saw you. Oh do come in, both of you!” Mrs. Hudson grabbed the mirror and ushered John into the dim hall of the building and into the suite marked A. In short order The mirror was hung on a peg on the wall, there were three mugs of steaming tea on the table and a plate of chocolate digestives. In a passing thought John realized that it had never occurred to him that Sherlock might actually eat. As John watched, A biscuit floated up, seemingly on it's own, and disappeared as if eaten. The mug of tea was next rise to Sherlock's yet unseen mouth. John shook his head. If he thought about it it would cause him to go mad. So he ate his own biscuits, and drank his tea, all the while pointedly not looking at where sherlock's reflection sat.

 

“Oh it is so good to see you again Sherlock. I thought I had lost you well and truly last time!” Mrs. Hudson sipped her Tea demurely. She turned to john. “left him in a cab of all things. Just got back from a long trip and left him right there, on the seat next to me! I felt horrible for months!” she looked over to the mirror to address sherlock directly. “Of course all you things are in the same place and order as they were, the flat is all yours. It might be a bit musty, I've gone up and dusted a few times but I haven't lately. You know, my hip and all.” She patted her her hip and made a 'what can you do?' gesture.

 

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” sherlock looked put out at the mention of being left on the seat of a cab but brightened soon after at the mentions of his effects. “As always your biscuits are superb!” He finished his tea and shoved another biscuit in his mouth before disappearing from the mirror all together. John looked at Mrs. Hudson with a questioning look and she smiled kindly at him “He most likely went upstairs to make sure everything is there.” She stood up and walked over to the wall and grabbed a set of keys off of a hook along with sherlock's mirror. “Here you are dear. You'll be needing these even if sherlock wont. And the mirror too. there is a peg just like that in the living room upstairs to hang that on.” she motioned over to the wall.

 

John took the keys and mirror. “Thank you, for these and the tea. Do you mind if I...?” John pointed to the ceiling.

 

“Not at all dear! There is a second bedroom upstairs in case you'll be needing two.” she had a mischievous look in her eye.

 

“Of course we'll be needing two. Does he even sleep...?” the last bit was muttered to himself as he exited the downstairs flat. He cautiously made his way up the stairs to unlock the door, bracing himself for what he might find.

 

The first thing he noticed was the books being rearranged on the shelf, some flying across the room to thunk against the opposite wall. The next was the thin layer of dust covering most surfaces. The un-lived in smell that came after was what spurred John into action. He worked his way through the clutter on the floor to the windows. Placing the mirror on the table between the two, he threw back the curtains causing a cloud of dust to rain down over his person. After a few moments of coughing and sneezing, he was able to open the disused windows. With a little light the room looked almost livable. He moved to take a look at the kitchen when a book came whistling through the air within an inch of his face.

 

“Sherlock for heavens sake watch where you're throwing those things!” John had to dodge another book tossed his way. He snatched up the mirror to look pointedly at the man, only to be ignored in favor of something deemed more interesting. Rolling his eyes, John searched the walls for the peg Mrs. Hudson told him about. He found it right in the center of the wall, above the couch on the opposite side, facing a larger mirror above the mantle. John carefully made his way over and hung the mirror in it's designated spot.

 

“I'm going to take a look around. Don't destroy anything please.” John heard a scoff and took that as all the answer he would get.

 

John started into the kitchen when sherlock called after him. “Don't go into the room at the end off the hall!” looking over his shoulder at the still floating book he waved in affirmation and went to study the kitchen.

 

There were dusty boxes sitting on the table labeled with everything from dish ware to chemistry equipment. Figuring he would leave those for later, John started a search through the cabinets. He came up with more dust and a few cans of questionable origin, but nothing too horrible. A brief scan of the fridge produced the same. Nothing a quick clean couldn't fix.

 

the bathroom was the same and the second bedroom. There was already a bed there, for which he was grateful, and a wardrobe. A large mirror was also hanging on the wall. John made a mental note to cover it with a sheet, still remembering the incident in the bathroom. All in all the flat was quite nice, if in need of a bit of cleaning. John made his way back down the stairs. Sherlock had moved from the book case to the boxes in the kitchen. Completely focused on his task and ignoring the dish ware, he seemed determined to set up a mini lab on the kitchen table. Test tubes, beakers, petri dishes, and all manner of objects were pulled out and set up with precision. Even a Bunsen burner and microscope came onto the play.

 

“so you're a chemist then?” John was leaning against the door frame. In his earlier search he hadn't noticed a mirror in the kitchen but since sherlock was in the room there had to be one “How did you even acquire all this?”

 

“No this is just a hobby of mine.” the clinking of glass accompanied his words. “and it helps when you're friends with a mortician. Well I say friends...” He trailed off.

 

Footsteps echoed up the stairs/ “Yoohoo boys!” Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the room. “Sherlock I took the liberty of calling that DI you used to work with to tell him you were found! I'm sure you'll have some work in no time.” She studied the room with a keen gaze. “I see you've already made yourself at home again. Look at this mess!” She was referring to the books scattered across the floor. “I'm not your housekeeper, I will not be cleaning up after you.” As she said this she started to tidy up, completely negating her words. John hid a small chuckle behind a cough.

 

Spying the nice squashy arm chair John decided to sit for a spell and read the paper that Mrs. Hudson had brought up with her. He opened up to a random page and the headline caught his eye.

 

_Serial suicides..._

 

“Let me see that.” John flinched violently as the paper was snatched out of his hands into the air.

 

“Nasty business that, serial suicides.” Mrs. Hudson was still moving about the room, dusting and whatnot. “What do you make of it sherlock? Three in as many weeks.” She shook he head sadly.

 

“Four.” Sherlock -and subsequently the news paper- moved over by the window. “There's been a fourth.” John craned his neck to look out the window. The flashing red and blue lights were ostentatious in the broad daylight. Pounding footsteps on the stairs caused John to swing around in his seat.

 

“Sherlock!” The man with graying hair looked franticly around the room, eyes stopping on the floating news paper. “I'll never get used to that...” Sherlock cut him off before he could continue talking.

 

“What's different about this one?” looking away form the paper, the man made eye contact with Sherlock in the mirror over the mantle. “You wouldn't be here if you still thought it was suicide.”

 

“This one left a note.” taking a deep breath and blowing it out through his nose the man spoke again. “Will you come?”

 

“We'll be right behind you Lestrade. Text John the address.”

 

The man, Lestrade, looks over to John like he just noticed he was there. “And who are you?”

 

John stood up to shake the DI's hand. “John Watson. I'm Sherlock's... Owner? Handler? I'm not rightly sure, I found him in an antique shop.”

 

“Right. Let me get your information then.” After exchanging mobile numbers, Lestrade was out the door. A crow of delight form Sherlock was heard and the news paper was flung, it's pages littering the floor.

 

“Four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas!” He was practicably vibrating with untapped energy. “Come along John grab the mirror and lets go!”

 

Felling a little put out, John obliged. A text cam through on his phone with an address. John couldn't tell where Sherlock was but assumed he was in his mirror. So much for a quiet morning in.

 


End file.
